


the line (we cannot see) that connects our stars

by vwritesaus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Haikyuu Rarepair Exchange 2020, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, mild spoilers for post-time skip!, very vague tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwritesaus/pseuds/vwritesaus
Summary: A crush was how it started. This is now something far more than that.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei (mentioned), Yachi Hitoka/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38
Collections: Haikyuu Rarepair Exchange 2020





	the line (we cannot see) that connects our stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bouenkyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouenkyou/gifts).



> hello!! i had a lot of fun writing this and it's my first time writing Yamaguchi, so i hope i did him justice reughreg  
> hope you like it!!
> 
> huge shout out to Oliver and Lilija for betaing ♡

There is a beauty in watching someone create magic in person. Only so much can be experienced through a screen from a living room couch or an unmade bed, and no amount of yelling that the chicken is raw can change the outcome occurring on the other side of the television or laptop screen. Yamaguchi has been partial to spending the on-season of cooking shows watching chefs fumble around new kitchens and salivating over the dishes they present to the panel of judges.

But with his rapt gaze set upon moving hands, Yamaguchi wonders when was the last time he physically watched someone cook, and then wonders why he stopped. Seeing dishes come to life on screen is one thing, but having the pungent smell of garlic and ginger hissing in hot oil, the sweetness of miso paste dissolving in boiling water, and fresh rice steaming in the cooker hit his nose is something else entirely.

As a child, he watched his mother cook with delight, getting excited every time she let him help her out. It’s been a long time since Yamaguchi’s felt that kind of joy, but here it is, rising up again in his chest several years later in a kitchen he calls his own, with a woman he cannot call his.

Placing his chin in his palm as he rests his elbow on the counter, Yamaguchi tells her, ‘Y’know, Yachi, you didn’t have to do this on your first day here. I could’ve whipped something up quickly.’

A laugh fills the space, light and airy. Yamaguchi forces himself to look into Yachi’s face rather than her working hands, and notes the coy smile forming along her mouth.

‘You could’ve, sure,’ she says, ‘but consider this as a thank you for taking me in on such short notice.’

Yamaguchi’s not sure what to say to that other than _it’s really no problem_ and to refocus on the chopping board as Yachi sets down some silken tofu on it.

When she had mentioned to Yamaguchi that her apartment’s lease was coming to end about a week ago at lunch, he hadn’t hesitated to offer her a place in his own. She had denied at first, as he had expected her to, but after much insistence that it was fine and that _there’s plenty of room for you and it’s close to work, right?_ she gave in with a grateful bow and a promise to not be a bother.

To Yamaguchi, Yachi couldn’t ever be a bother even if she tried, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he had helped her move in throughout the week, carrying boxes up multiple flights of stairs (thanks to an out-of-order elevator) and into the spare room he had been using as a study until now. The last of Yachi’s things had come today, tucked into a bright green suitcase and black leather backpack. They remain at the door to her new room, forgotten about since Yachi’s idea of settling in was to cook them both dinner.

(And when Yamaguchi had texted Tsukishima that Yachi was officially moving in, he had received a curt and firm _that’s a bad idea_. He knew it was, but he wasn’t going to let Tsukishima win this time. He had to help her out… that’s just how he is.

But having her present, right in his space and in his face, muted perfume coming his way every time she moves past him to grab something… perhaps Tsukishima has a point.)

In an attempt to quell his thoughts, Yamaguchi straightens and grabs the bottle of sake he’s been saving for this very occasion from the cupboard near his feet. Yachi’s eyebrows fly into her hairline at the sight of it, surprise picture-perfect upon her features, but Yamaguchi knows better. They’ve known each other for years after all, and he’s validated the second she takes the offered glass and raises it in a silent cheers.

He grins—

‘Welcome home, Yachi.’

—and goes to take a sip.

She mirrors him, but not before she says, ‘Thank you, but I think we’ve known each other long enough to call each other by our given names. What do you say, Tadashi?’

Yamaguchi chokes on his sake to the sound of Yachi’s pealing laughter and thinks _this definitely wasn’t a bad idea_ as he joins in _._

* * *

Morning sunlight—splotched, trembling into existence, a soft yellow that looks almost white—looks beautiful on Yachi’s hair. Yamaguchi has been greeted with that sight every single morning since she’s moved in, and it’s the same now even two months later.

She is sitting at their little dining table on the opposite wall of where the stove and oven stand, a steaming mug held between her fingers and a stack of sketching paper strewn across the wooden surface. Golden strands fall into her eyes and frame her jaw, highlighting rosy cheeks, a creased brow and a tucked bottom lip. When Yamaguchi walks into the kitchen, he sees her immediately look up and shoot him a sunny smile, paired with a _good morning, Tadashi!_ and a gesture towards the counter where fresh coffee awaits him.

It takes everything in him not to scream out loud in frustration, opting for a good morning back and stalking quickly to the coffee machine.

When he had suggested to Yachi that she move in with him, he had anticipated the action to be a cure for his lingering feelings. As it turns out, the cure has evolved into a restless bout of accelerated heartbeats and sweaty palms the moment Yachi is in close proximity to him—which is to say _all the time_.

Yamaguchi is not sure of the exact moment he noticed his affections for Yachi were something more than friendly, but he knows he’s been harbouring said affections for the better part of seven years. High school and university were the worst offenders for various reasons, but there had been a lull after graduation, spikes of attraction present in intermittent get-togethers (with and without Tsukishima, Kageyama and Hinata). He was sure that having Yachi close by, and on a regular basis, would help subdue what can only be described as a severe crush.

But two months in and it’s proving to be a fatal error on his behalf, for the feelings are intensifying rather than disappearing.

Ignoring it for the time being—which is what he does best—Yamaguchi gets his coffee and asks Yachi about her plans for the day, concentrating on not stuttering over the pronunciation of her given name. _Hitoka_ has a different taste in his mouth to _Yachi_ , and it’s slowly becoming a sweet addiction despite the way his tongue knots when he tries to utter it aloud. Yamaguchi chooses to take slow sips as he listens to Yachi talk, stopping only when she mentions the possibility of attending a mixer. _I don’t expect anything from it_ , she says with a wave of her hand, but Yamaguchi is quick to tell her to not brush it off so aimlessly.

It stings, but Yachi deserves the best.

The matter is dropped in favour of discussing meals for the week, and the day goes on from there. They leave for their jobs with smiles and _have a good day at work!_ Work is work, breaks riddled with texts and invites to drinks later that night. Yamaguchi is coerced by his colleague to join them for _just_ _one drink, c’mon newbie_ and is dragged to a local izakaya not too far from work. He enjoys himself, strangely, but ends up confused when the woman he’s conversing with is not blonde and is far too tall.

By the time he gets home, it’s nearing eleven o’clock. No doubt Yachi is in bed (as she should be; she had promised when he texted her that he’d be late today), so he takes his time taking his shoes off and popping his joints after several hours of constant sitting. Yet when he steps out of the genkan and spots Yachi dozing on the couch, Yamaguchi’s heart flutters somewhere behind his ribs. He instantly notes the awkward position her neck is at and pictures her rubbing it in the morning to loosen the tight muscles.

He’s there in two strides, hand gently placed on her shoulder and voice nothing above a murmur as he shakes her awake. Yamaguchi ignores the way she leans into his touch as she stirs; ignores the shine in her eyes when they land on him; ignores the dopey look of happiness and the mumbled _welcome home_ that spills from her lips.

(Who is he kidding? How could he ignore such beauty?)

‘You should go sleep in a bed, Hitoka. Not here.’

She hums lowly and the sound travels through Yamaguchi’s body. He watches her rise to her feet and feels his skin burn when her hand lands on his arm, patting it a few times in a wordless _thank you_. As she parts from him and goes to her bedroom, Yamaguchi wants to let his mouth run free and staple his words to the walls where Yachi can see them.

But he doesn’t. He wishes her a goodnight and starts moving towards his own room to get ready for bed. Yamaguchi wishes that her fond _goodnight_ is followed by _I love you_ , and smiles despite himself when she sends him a shy grin through the crack of her closing bedroom door.

(He dreams of soft yellow-white light filtering through round, kind eyes, colouring them bottomless gold; of an angel whispering tender words in the language of pillowy lips and butterflied eyelashes; of a future rolled up in warm bedsheets and warmer fingers, skin speckled from curtained beams of a sluggish morning; and ends up with a boulder of disappointment crushing his chest when he wakes up to none of it).

* * *

Since his first year of junior high school, Yamaguchi had sat in the shadows of those brighter than him, often choosing to speak from the back seats and observe from the sidelines. Tsukishima was the one who did the talking for him the majority of the time, or brushed off those who were only concerned about taking advantage of Yamaguchi’s tendency to help without hesitation. He had only known how to hide in the face of the unknown, with only Tsukishima’s rolling eyes and bony fingers being his guides.

His first year of high school, however, taught him to open up and try his best, to allow failure to be a mere curve on the road to success, and that viewing the world upon the sidelines presents opportunities rather than representing lack of skill. He learned to rely on Tsukishima only occasionally, allowing himself to move from the back of the room towards the frail edge of the spotlight. He gained the trust of Kageyama and Hinata, and Yachi when she joined them after the Inter High, formed amicable and charged relationships with his senpais, and adhered to the rule _practice makes perfect_. His second year was a testament of his hard work, growing even closer with his peers and helping captain Ennoshita in keeping Tanaka and Nishinoya in check upon facing Date Tech in the Inter High finals.

Third year had been an altogether different experience. Strong hands, familiar hands, gently pulled Yamaguchi away from the sidelines and into the spotlight, adorned with a number one and a team of six under his watchful gaze. There was no crown upon his head and the spotlight did not just shine upon him, but his voice filtered through the minds and hearts of his teammates and became one whose words carried a weight heavier than his fellow third years’. He had been no general or celebrated war hero, but he brought the team to victory and saw the Orange Court again, standing on it with his own two feet.

Yamaguchi now believes, thanks to this experience, that he has become a manifestation of the phrase _not a quitter_. He sees things through to the end, despite all its brick walls and locked doors and ticking clocks, and ensures that the idea of a successful outcome comes to fruition. So when he comes up with the objective _Get Over My High School Crush On Hitoka_ , Yamaguchi is more than determined to complete it. It helps that Yachi is going on a date tonight with some co-worker of hers—Taka… Takada? Takayama? The editor’s assistant!—and so beginning Stage One should be no problem.

He sees her off with a wave and a joyous _have fun,_ purposefully ignoring her cute outfit and glowing aura as he tells her to text him if she needs anything. She disappears down the hallway in a flutter of strawberry pink and with a galaxy of stars hanging from her ears, shoes clacking alongside her voice as she tells Yamaguchi she’ll see him later.

If all goes well, Yamaguchi knows he won’t be seeing her later. He hopes it does, for his own sake. It’s a seven-year crush, after all. It’s time to put an end to it.

He spends his evening cleaning up: drying dishes, wiping down the table, packing away folded clothes and making the weekly shopping list for the morning are strangely therapeutic, and are enough to keep Yamaguchi’s brain busy. Since Yachi had left, he has not thought about her or his unrequited love once.

It looks like fulfilling this objective is going to be a lot easier than he thought.

Yet when Yachi returns home at midnight with a strained smile and a forlorn shake of the head, Yamaguchi disregards the weightless bubble that wavers up into his chest and opens his arms to her.

* * *

When Tsukishima learns of _Get Over My High School Crush On Hitoka_ , he laughs until he cries. When Hinata learns of it, he sends Yamaguchi a puzzled look, one that displays an unspoken _why would you want to do that?_ When Kageyama learns of it, he’s chewing on pork curry and eyeing Yamaguchi intently. It’s him who voices what’s on his mind, startling Yamaguchi into a state of mindless static as he asks, ‘Did you even tell her how you feel? Did she tell you how she feels about you?’

They are two oddly profound questions, especially for the likes of Kageyama, for he had taken three years to realise Tsukishima was, in his own roundabout way, head over heels in love with him. No amount of badgering on Yamaguchi’s, Hinata’s, and Yachi’s behalves had made him see the light, but rather an accidental kiss which resulted in a stunted _do you wanna go out with me?_ and two sets of cheeks being encompassed by dark blushes whenever they locked eyes for the rest of the day.

They are questions that Yamaguchi doesn’t know how to answer without sounding silly. Of course he hasn’t told her and of course she hasn’t told him. Why would she? Why would _he?_ To sound like an idiot? To ruin the bond they’ve taken so long to build up as _friends?_ To backtrack on their progress in bypassing nervous small talk and anxious ramblings for the sake of filling in the silence?

Yamaguchi decides to keep quiet, looking down at his plate of katsu.

(He has the fleeting thought of Yachi’s homemade katsu being better than this one, and the sensation of it crosses his tongue like a wave.)

Kageyama takes this as an opening and sets his chopsticks down.

The izakaya has never felt smaller, even as Kageyama captures him with familiar dark eyes and pouty lips the moment he lifts his head. There’s a tightness in his chest when Kageyama lets his next lot of wise words hang in the air, and he purposefully ignores the pointed look he receives from Tsukishima and the gentle smile Hinata aims his way.

He also disregards Kageyama’s _you’ll regret it if you don’t_ and returns to his dinner. The rest of the evening is spent listening to his friends as they talk about their daily lives (though the topic of interest ends up being Hinata’s bachelor status in the world of dating, something Tsukishima labels _being so in love with volleyball that he doesn’t need romance,_ to which Hinata vehemently agrees, much to their surprise).

When he sees Yachi later tonight (and curse her job for making her work when they’re having a meetup like this), Yamaguchi will be sure to continue with _Get Over My High School Crush On Hitoka_ no matter what his friends say _._

* * *

It takes three months and twenty-eight days for Yamaguchi to come to terms with the fact that his mission is literally impossible. It takes several failed mixers, regretful bows and nights plagued with unrealistic dreams of holding Yachi’s hand for him to accept the inevitable.

A crush was how it started. This is now something far more than that.

During this time, Yachi has also been unsuccessful in her dating life. They spend most of their evenings together, whining about incompatible dates, high standards and the shocking instance of Takayama-san apologising for his poor behaviour on their night out. It fills Yamaguchi with more hope than it should, because he really does know better, and he finds himself wishing more and more that Yachi’s dates fail.

Tonight, they’re in the living room: the glare of the television dances upon their skin in varying speckled, neon shades. Yachi is curled into the corner of the couch, eyes fixated on the screen, and Yamaguchi rests his cheek in his palm, hurriedly following the movements of a rapid knife chopping spring onions. The chefs this season seem far more equipped than the last one, each dish greater and more daring than ever before. Yamaguchi nearly groans in annoyance when the episode takes an ad break, and seizes the opportunity to stretch his legs.

‘Damn, I can’t believe they’d do us dirty like that!’ Yachi cries. ‘I’m so nervous! That octopus did not look cooked.’

‘I don’t know, I think it might be?’ Yamaguchi supplies, pursing his lips. ‘Let’s hope it is… for Nakamura-san’s sake.’

Yachi hums pensively and Yamaguchi glances over at her. Her eyes are still on the television, the pinks of the current ad streaked across her cheeks. It’s amazing how even now she’s the most beautiful person Yamaguchi’s ever seen.

‘Hey, Tadashi?’

Blinking, he notices her staring back at him—and he can make out a hint of nervousness in her face even in the dimly lit room.

_Strange…_

Once she is sure she’s got his attention, she clears her throat.

‘Do you have anything planned tomorrow?’

Frowning, Yamaguchi shakes his head. It’s their day off tomorrow, the only day in the week they can have some free time (most of it really spent doing piled up housework and meeting up with the old high school gang).

Yachi breathes in deeply and then asks, ‘Okay… in that case… would you like to go on a date? With me?’

There’s a long pause. The episode has resumed but neither pay any attention to it for nothing weighs greater importance than the question that’s just been dropped on the couch between them. Yamaguchi’s aware that Yachi’s started rambling—most likely an attempt to take back what she’s just said and that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to—but he cannot bring himself to calm her down.

A whisper leaves his mouth and Yachi stops. There’s something rushing in Yamaguchi’s ears, but he’s not sure what it is exactly. The only thing he is hyperaware of are two round, golden eyes locking him in a bewildered stare.

_I’d love to_.

The next thing he knows is Yachi laughing nervously, muttering, ‘Oh, wow, was it really that easy? I’ve been meaning to ask you for years, but I never thought you’d like me back—’

He doesn’t let her finish, because he knows what she’s going to say. He’s been thinking it himself this whole time. Yamaguchi finishes the sentence, a hand on her burning cheek, fingers in her hair and the taste of coconut balm on his lips.

They never do find out if Nakamura-san’s octopus was cooked, sitting in that dark living room well into the early morning and learning what makes up the lines which connect their stars, and how these seven years really were an amalgamation of both their anxieties about taking their relationship further.

(And when Yamaguchi frantically texts Tsukishima the next morning, demanding an opinion on what to wear on a secret date, the following phone call he gets of Tsukishima teasing him relentlessly for _finally_ doing it doesn’t get rid of the sweet, sweet feeling that now resides under his skin.)

**Author's Note:**

> very unsure about the title but i got nothing else ; v ; hopefully it's not too cheesy
> 
> come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/vwritesaus/)


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